Stained Fingers
by WhereHeavenandEarthColllide
Summary: Muggle AU,Highschool,Drarry. Draco starts writing things everywhere.He can't keep from scribbling about the new kid with dazzling green eyes.One time he writes something on his desk and forgets to erase it.Where Draco is a repressed type of poet and Harry is an artist who hasn't drawn since his parents died,where they sort of save each other and fall in love slowly and carefully.
1. When I saw you

A/N: So I had this idea rattling around my head for a few nights and I just had to write it out. It would be great if I got anything sort of response, whether I should continue this at all. Even just a "cool". Disclaimer Harry Potter is not mine, nor any of the characters.

…

Draco was vaguely aware that the soft _tap, tap, tap_ on his roof meant yet another rainy day. His head felt fuzzy as it swarms with the possibilities of descriptive words for rain. _Soft, cold, clean_. Clouds covering the blue tinted sky to cleanse everything below with a mist of icy precipitation. _Ah so clean, so smeared_. Rain drops smearing the earth below in whims of convergence between sky and earth. His arms feel so heavy lain on his pale lavender sheets. Lavender that absorbs all his red and anger. That swaddles his heavy fingers that twitch with the urge to flex, to twitch into action, or perhaps to move in strokes of edged ink. He was roughly aware of losing his mind in swirls of desperate need.

he was however painfully stripped of his words and sharply strangled into alertness by his screeching alarm clock. The blaring red fluorescent light screaming at his satisfying quirks to quiet themselves. He could never unveil what laid beneath the layer of pale skin. Could never let the light of his colorful mind erupt through his translucent grey eyes. He was just another speck of walking flesh and bones in a town which thrives on stability and conservation.

The morning is a tangle of sheets thrown, legs tangling in ripped denim and arms enveloped in green sleeves. Its walking through eerily quiet halls with haunting portraits. He doesn't see his ghost of a mother in the kitchen drowning tea like it'll warm her cold carcass. He doesn't see the portrait of his father as he descends the staircase, because really, the last time he saw his father was when he brought home several suspicious men from "work." The morning is just a haze of quiet, lonely, and rambunctious words to remind him he is a caged writer in a jail house.

His father once found him in a corner of the house scratching ink into torn pages from his mother's journal. He had turned scarlet and erupted like a volcano,

"Malfoys are businessmen, they are certainly not writers. I will never allow it. "he had screamed, I fear even the roses in the garden had heard his thundering voice.

I had never considered myself a writer, more like a broken poet who had been the best in a past life. But Malfoys were businessmen and so I sewed my lips together, speaking like a ceramic doll my father had created himself. That however had crashed and burned when he entered high school. He father had been furious when Draco had come home with excellent marks in English and creative writing, but average scores in math and business. This is where color meshed together, where he started floating through life rather than living through it. He had essentially been disowned for his lack of industrial skill. School became unbearable.

School was like a library with books who had empty pages. Redundant and tedious. Filled with soundless voices and blank faces. He had been one of them, but he had been snapped into a sphere of mind-bending events. A new student, dropped off in this grey world that seem to erupt into color with his very soft smiles. A boy. Ah a boy with soft and sharp lines. Perfectly flawed.

This moment was the first time my fingers had ached in years…

 _Every curve of you had me speechless, and when you looked at me I knew you would be the one to destroy me._

…

Harry was aware that for the past few weeks he was still labeled as the "new kid." Having moved to a town in the middle of nowhere that seemed to meld with the surrounding pine trees after his parents had passed away had been surprising. Sure, he anticipated a move, but not to such a remote town. His godfather, Sirius, had showed up to their little apartment in New York with a long face and a handful of papers. The following days had been a blur, constantly packing and blinking away his tears. He didn't really remember the whole event if he was honest with himself.

He had awoken in a bright room filled with teetering stacks of boxes. His alarm a few minutes from playing its little annoying tune. _Get up, wash teeth, get dressed and caffeine._ It had always been his ritual.

The first days of school were spent cursing at his grumpy locker and avoiding everybody's questioning glares. His classes were like the ones he had been enrolled into in his previous school. The second week was more bearable, he made two friends, Hermione from history and Ron from science. They were nice and sometimes he saw Ron sneaking glances at Hermione during lunch break. Once he had sat next to them during lunch he meet a few others, everyone at school seemed divided into four cliques. Hermione tried explaining it to him once, but all he understood is that everyone was divided here and no one ever made a move to interact with others. It was nothing compared to his old life.

A few weeks in he started noticing a boy in his and Hermione's history class.

"who's that?" he was suspicious the boy had been watching him.

"Oh, that's Draco Malfoy, best stay clear of him Harry I hear he's a tad crazy" Hermione had said returning to her history book.

Harry had tried, he really had, but days passed and he was sure he could see this Malfoy boy looking at him throughout history class. Curiosity killed the cat, his father had once told him curiosity could be just as dangerous as a gun. He had been warned after all that this boy was a tad off, but he became obsessed. Watching himself being watched by steel grey eyes was intoxicating.

Distracted, Harry would watch the boys pale form from the corner of his eye instead of learning about WWI. History became grey eyes, nervous bitten lips, and quivering fingers. Pale long fingers that never seemed to grasp a pencil for countless history notes, but still trembled anxiously. Surprisingly Harry only noticed Malfoy, he thought he should call him something if he was going to practically stalk him, pick up his pencil towards the end of class. He would see yellow movement, faint and soft sliding over polished wood. Scribbles onto a desk that would be just as quickly erased. It was confusing and driving him absolutely mad!

Today was different. Harry knew today would be different. He went about his day normally. Waiting for something to happen, pop quizzes, fire drill, someone breaking the unspeakable clique rules, maybe even Ron and Hermione announcing their newfound love for each other, but nothing happened. He even watched Malfoy squirm and twitch till the bell rang, signaling the end of class and school day. Nothing remotely had happe-

"Hermione, did you see Malfoy erase his notes?" he whispered, frozen a few steps away from the classroom.

"I don't know? Honestly Harry some of us actually pay attention in class, why?" Hermione replied, the look on her face was one of confusion and suspicion. He couldn't blame her, a few weeks back she had noticed his sudden interest in Malfoy and simply told him to keep his distance. After a while she stopped commenting on his continuous staring.

"I think I forgot something in class" he knew his voice was rushed, but he couldn't remember pale fingers erasing scratched notes. It might be nothing he knew that, it was probably Malfoy professing his hatred for the class, the teacher, maybe even the world, but he had to know for sure.

"Harry I don-"

"I'll meet you and Ron at his house!" He was already turned towards the classroom door walking in big strides. Gliding down the rows of desks and chairs till he reached Malfoy's. The one in the corner next to the window. Harry only sat two rows away, Hermione and an empty desk between him and Malfoy.

There written in soft pencil strokes made his breath hitch.

 _Green, Green, Green, all I see is green._

 _Destroying me from the inside out, Green, Green, Green._

 _Vicious green tearing me apart, sweet green cradling me, sad green looking at me…_


	2. When you looked at me

**A/N:** the last line is a song lyric, I do not own the song nor its lyrics. It's from **What you are by Richard Readey.** I would appreciate any feedback negative or positive. Don't hesitate to comment any confusions as well. I know the beginning is a slow start, it might pick up a little, but this was meant as a slow burn type romance so bear with me. Thank you to any readers, and/or followers.

/

Draco knew something had changed. By the way Harry's eyes followed him with such intensity when he thought Draco didn't notice, but also the way Harry averted his eyes when he tried to make the slightest eye contact. He wondered if maybe Harry knew what Draco was thinking when he observed every soft smile, every green spark. Wondered what Harry would say or do if he told him every time he tried to write anger, red and explosive it was masked by curiosity, green and burning.

Everywhere, he couldn't stop himself from ink loving his arms and crisscrossing veins. Paper stuffing filling his pockets. Smears of blue, black, red. The metallic taste of ballpoint. Everywhere. Math wasn't complete without the count of long eyelashes, science wasn't complete without the explanation of chemical reacting emotions, school wasn't complete without green, messy black and tan. He was losing himself in glances, skin, and words.

"Mr. Malfoy, do you need a partner?" his teachers voiced interrupted his thoughts. With wide eyes, he looked around noticing students shuffling towards friends, notebooks in hand. He looked at the assignment sheet that had been tossed on his desk, then back to the teacher.

"Very well Mr. Malfoy, you will be Mr. Potter and Miss Grangers partner seeing as the class is uneven." Came the bored voice. He didn't listen to the following instructions, the humming in his ears louder than any requirements. He looked over, hunched shoulders, nervous eyes greeted him. Harry was concealing himself in his hoodie and tattered backpack. Hermione signaled him over, he didn't feel his shaky legs move just realized he was somehow seated near them. Up close he could tell Harry was trying very hard not to look at him. Tugging his sleeves securely around his wrists, he feels like green eyes can read through layers of grey cotton.

 _I am unfindable, you are a lost traveler…_

Hermione is explaining the assignment. The history of music throughout WWII, he hadn't realized they had already passed the first war in class. She explains what we should do for the project, he can see her eyes move from Harry to him, but he don't understand. This is the first time he has been near any of them.

"You and Harry can do music study and ill figure out the rest, okay?" He realizes Hermione is talking to him. He sneaks a glance at Harry and sees Harry is just as surprised by Hermione's suggestion as he is. However, he can see something swirl in green, before Harry looks at him. Green meeting grey.

"I don't mind if you don't" Harry's voice is soft, gaze questioning. Draco thinks for a minute that maybe he has fallen asleep in class again.

"I don't mind" he feels his voice quiver. They exchange phone numbers, words of goodbye and reassurances to get together to pick songs over the weekend leave Draco dizzy. He doesn't realize his mistake as he hands Harry his number written on a scrap of paper he found in his backpack. Hermione says she'll get his number from Harry and so he bolts from the classroom.

 _A hello from you would make my hello tremble…_

 _/_

Harry was laying in his bed, he had left school with a spinning head and 7 digits written haphazardly on lined paper. He reads over the line on the back and thinks Draco perhaps forgets he leaves these confusing lines everywhere.

He looks over at his sketchbook and groans. Hiding his face in his pillow he remembers how he had come home the night he found words scribbled on Draco's desk. His ears had buzzed with thundering blood flow and he'd kept reminding himself to breathe. He had thought 'many people have green eyes' but he couldnt shake the memory of Draco observing him from the corner of his eye.

Harry had gone over to Ron's as promised, but after two hours of doodled hands in the margins of his science homework he gave an excuse of an exploding headache and went home. His Godfather had tried to ask about school and if he needed to talk. Harry knew he meant well, but he had just shrugged and said everything was fine as he ran up to his room. He hadn't known what is was he wanted to do, till he found himself tearing open box after box. Harry remembered the moment he had opened the box that contained his art supplies. He had stared at the finely tipped brushes and green, sharpened pencils. A flash of his mother's smile and father's open arms had him closing the box, but a flash of storm bred grey eyes, pale skin and curved rosy lips had him pulling out the new sketchbook he had bought before his parent's incident and an assortment of drawing pencils.

It had been awhile since he'd drawn, since his fingers had craved the smooth finish of a pencil and rough textured paper. He couldn't stop himself from sketching the sharp curve of a jaw, or a chin. The soft curl of lips, the gentle arch of eyebrows. Eyes, Eyes, Eyes. They stared back at him from the flat surface of his sketch. Draco was looking at him. Harry had been surprised at himself for remembering every detail of Draco's face.

He thinks back to the events of earlier that day when Draco became a part of his and Hermione's group. He had tried not to stare; afraid Draco would figure out he had spent that last few nights drawing him. He could still see the graphite clinging to his fingers and the remnants of charcoal underneath his finger nails.

He had been shocked Hermione had paired him and Draco together to choose noteworthy war songs. She hadn't mentioned how his eyes always looked for blonde hair or how he had started carrying around a sketch pad and would guard it from interested eyes, even hers. He suspected she had paired them together because she thought they were inadequate to write the essay portion or because she had gotten sick of watching eyes stumble over each other.

He was looking up at his ceiling, his computer emitting soft notes. Clutching the crumbled note paper scrap, he decided maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go a little mad with Draco after all.

 _ **I was never looking for you, until you came by…**_


End file.
